


Precedence

by machinavellian



Category: Heavy Rain
Genre: Fuck Or Die, M/M, Mutual Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machinavellian/pseuds/machinavellian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Are you prepared to make someone suffer to save your son?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Precedence

**Author's Note:**

> between personal suffering and murder, a missing trial.

 

**ARE YOU PREPARED TO MAKE SOMEONE SUFFER TO SAVE YOUR SON?**

  
This is how everything starts. If he looks back, Ethan might find that he weighs his choices less carefully than he'd like to imagine he did. Even dubious motel-stashed narcotics can't offset the dizzying sear befitting permanent mutilation spreading steady up his arm. But, much like the ultimate consequences of losing half a finger, Ethan does as much as he can to stuff distractions away somewhere else, as if his mind is made up of the rooms in his old house in his old life and the pain is an unwanted sweater abandoned to the hall closet. Madison is safe, away in her room, and that's where Madison deserves to be. She's come too far, gone too deep, given too much, and Ethan's endangered her too many times to be bringing her back into the nightmare now.

_'Choose one other person and bring them to this room.'_

When Jayden carefully breathes his name across the line, a question, Ethan struggles to tamp down the quaver in his voice. He needs to talk to him. Alone, away from police. He's the only one he can trust now. Please, Agent Jayden, you're the only one who can help him. Please, meet him here soon. Please, don't come, turn back. Please, forgive him for whatever is about to happen.

_'Remain between your partner and the door. You have one hour.'_

Ethan tells him they can't talk in the lobby, so the death march back up the groaning stairs unfolds in the silence Ethan sustains as he fights the whole distance to hold his mounting nausea at bay. Jayden enters first, just as planned, while Ethan holds the door and watches a raindrop streak down the back of the man's coat.

"All right, listen, Ethan. I wanna help you, but before anythin', you _gotta_ tell me what this is all about."

At the other end of the camera feed, there is a lengthy silence. It feels evaluative, as though pausing to judge Ethan's choice. Or maybe whoever it is doesn't care at all, looking on with dispassion, just biding time.

This apartment isn't like the last. Someone could've lived here once upon a time, sat with their family above the scratches on the floor where a couch used to be, or maybe just staring out the opaque, water-spotted window, smoking a cigarette, alone. Together, Jayden's cautious steps and eyes sweep the room until they fall on the tripod and screen planted next to an abandoned end table near the corner. He twists around with suspicion and the first hard notes of a warning in his voice.

"What's going _on,_ Ethan...?"

_'Take the pistol from the desk behind you.'_

Jayden turns eyes huge as the moon on him. And he must see the desperation there **—** right there, when both of them look down at the gun in Ethan's already moving hand **—** because the next second he's whipping his own gun from its holster and his arms bolt out straight, clutching the thing in fingers that readjust nervously every few heartbeats.

Ethan's aim trembles but remains resolute.

“Please, I **—** ”

Jayden hazards a small, shuffling step to the left, gaze and gun locked on the fear he's banking on in Ethan's eyes. “Come on, Ethan... Is that it? That him? Don't _do this,_ Ethan, dammit, you're _better_ than this!”

_'You have thirty minutes to receive oral sex from your partner in view of the camera.'_

They both stop cold. In precise tandem with Ethan, Jayden's stare momentarily redirects to the little monitor.

“What the _fuck_ kinda sick game are you tryin' to play, you twisted son of a bitch? What's your angle?”

But the computer has no answer. Ethan's pretty positive at this point that it's all pre-recorded. He swallows against tears and bile and even a twinge of relief that he might not have to _shoot this man,_ but it isn't enough. Nothing's ever enough.

"Please... Please. Everything that's happened, I **—** if I don't, Shaun's gonna _die,_ and I can't... I _can't."_ He comes apart anyway, and his vision blurs and the gun quakes hard in his hands, and Jayden just stands there with this _look_ that Ethan doesn't know how to name. "If **—** if I could tell you to just _shoot_ me, if I thought you could do it instead... but it _has_ to be _me,_ if I don't, I'll **—** "

He takes a gasping breath. "He has Shaun. I don't want to hurt you b **—** I don't have a choice. Please..."

Jayden's like a statue. Slowly, he lowers the gun.

“...I believe you, Ethan.” Then, looking toward his and Ethan's own images in the corner, ugly and dark: "I'm gonna find you, you piece of shit. Make no mistake."

And then he approaches slowly, hands up and open to show Ethan that he means no harm, either, and moves close enough to Ethan to register how he smells of sweat and fear and lingering burnt blood. Ethan relaxes his grip on the handgun but doesn't put it down. No one says anything.

Jayden sinks to his knees. Ethan doesn't look because he's afraid, he's _so afraid_ of looking and recognizing fear, betrayal, violation. So instead he stares unseeing at a peeling flower on the wallpaper and imagines Jayden's reassuring determination, his sharp, investigative eye. Better make this good; get it right the first time. There's none left to spare.

Somewhere, the floorboards settle. The sudden crack deep in the building's bowels dominates Ethan's attention long enough to distract from the pop and drag of Jayden unfastening his pants, but Jayden's chilly fingers slip into the fold of his underwear and pull him out and he can't ignore that because he isn't allowed. It's why they're here.

It is with calculated verve that Jayden begins to stroke and stoke him to something resembling life, sliding back foreskin until the head of Ethan's penis skids sticky off his bottom lip, flesh faintly damp. Out slips his tongue, tasting bitter slight salt, but then he dispenses with the preamble entirely and sinks quick against Ethan's pelvis in a long saliva-slick slide, bangs and forehead rumpling soft against olive drab fabric, because Jayden, he's thinking **—** the least he can do for himself is make Ethan taste more like his mouth. His fingers find Ethan's belt loops, back pockets, like what he's really looking for is a way to get that pistol away from his skull.

Ethan swallows thickly, dimly observing the way the muzzle of the gun hovering above Jayden's temple draws troubled tension between the man's eyebrows, and tries his damnedest to get it up. Thinks of anything else, of being anywhere or anyone else, tries sifting through his thin private archive of erotic imagery for something that wouldn't be tainted by guilt or painful memories, and he just _can't,_ even with eyes screwed shut against the endless slip of his cock in and out past Jayden's lips. All there is is this, the singular point of warmth centered between his cold, dead legs, the thick wet noises brought by Jayden's attempts to suck him hard and rough enough to make it over fast. Jayden's gaze, ever-watchful whenever he pulls back enough, searching sidelong for any sign of Ethan's good finger taking its place on the trigger. The first time Ethan dares to look down, a sound of miserable longing erupts from his aching chest; he withdraws his arm, bracing his full hand against the desk behind him, and Jayden notices and closes his eyes and takes him deep and forgiving and tugging and tight.

Ethan can't stop himself; he moans, jagged, taut with catharsis, feels the heat of Jayden's scalp where his free hand falls onto his hair. Jayden's throat hugs him sweetly as he chokes, tries not to choke, chokes again. _Don't look don't look don't look don't look._ Jayden's eyes are red-rimmed and glassy despite his best intentions, wet lashes fluttering with effort as he frowns around his cock. So little enters Ethan's mind when he comes. It's just white, it's silent, a blank spot in his vision left behind by the sun, and then everything is real and wrong and Jayden sags onto his ankles with an audible swallow and inhale, one hand still on Ethan's outer thigh, looking at the floor.

His skin feels cold and sticky when he tucks himself back into his pants, zips up, struggles for the words. “I'm sorry. I **—** I had no choice. I couldn't just...”

_'Your partner has thirty seconds to leave the premises. Do this now.'_

Mouth flush-dark, Jayden doesn't quite meet his eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah; I know.” He turns, looks at Ethan's torn and bloody knees; a reminder. No choice. It has to be. “Find your son, Ethan.”

Ethan maybe nods at the closing door.

_'The desk. Bottom right, behind the panel.'_

Lets the footsteps fade and disappear. He makes it twelve steps into the hallway, legs still tremoring with orgasm, before he gives into his better nature and vomits until his whole throat burns.

 

 


End file.
